Soldier's Luck
by Strapless
Summary: Miri pays back a debt. Sequel to Midwinter Luck.


**Disclaimer: **It's probably quite clear that I have no ownership claims to the characters, world, etc. I'm simply playing in the world Ms. Pierce created.

**Author's Notes:** This is a sequel to a previous one-shot titled "Midwinter Luck." It's not completely necessary, but you might want to read that one first.

"**Soldier's Luck"**

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_Port Legann, Summer 452 H.E._

I trotted through the stables of Port Legann as fast as my feet would take me, looking for one person and one person alone. I found his ponies, the cream stallion and the brown mare, stalled two rows down from mine. That was something, but it wasn't everything.

A few more stalls down and I came to a ladder leading to the loft. I looked up into the opening, but the boards and wisps of hay offered me no clues. I climbed up anyway, wincing as my injured ribs protested. I'd have to remember to put more bruisebalm on them later.

There he was. Evin sat with his back against a bale of hay, his legs stretched out before him, staring into space. I breathed a sigh of relief.

He must have heard me, because he turned, and an expression of relief that must have matched my own came across his face. "Oh, thank the gods!"

One second I was standing by the door to the loft. In the next I was on my knees beside him, wrapped in a one-armed hug with his head buried in my shoulder.

"Thank the gods!" he breathed again. He looked up, eyes wet. "I was worried. I didn't know if…"

I gave him a shaky smile. "Me, too." Then I spotted the bandage that wound around his entire right bicep, and then some. "What happened to your arm?"

He leaned back with a sigh. "Fell off. Dislocated my shoulder. Was almost cut down. Nearly bled to death."

"Sounds dramatic."

"I'm just feeling lucky to be alive right now."

"I think we all are."

I shifted to sit next to him, mimicking his posture. I leaned my head against his good shoulder, and a moment later he pressed his cheek against my hair.

He passed me a bottle. "Here, drink some of this."

"What is it?" I asked, taking it. The contents were amber through the glass.

"Whiskey. Blunts the sharp edges."

"Sounds like as good a cure as any." I took a swig and it burned down my throat, making me cough. The second went down smoother.

We sat like that for a while, passing the whiskey bottle back and forth. Lofts had always been our retreat, starting back when we were trainees. If you timed it right, you wouldn't be disturbed until someone came to feed the horses. They were good thinking spots, or just plain good places to get away and hide. The stable here was quiet, except for a snort or a stamping hoof here and there. One of the occupants below starting kicking its stall, but ceased after a while. From the strength of the impacts it must have been one of the warhorses. A few birds chattered in the rafters. It was easy to forget that a war had just ended right outside.

I looked over at Evin as I passed the bottle back to him for the…I don't know, I'd lost count a while ago. He was pale under his summer tan and his hair looked as though he had been running his hands through it—a nervous habit. His mouth was pressed in a flat line, his eyes looking into something that I couldn't see. It was so unlike the insufferably light-hearted friend I knew. I wished there was something I could do. When I was little, my mother would always chase my hurts away with a kiss. If only it could be that simple now.

_Why the heck not?_ piped up the voice that always encouraged me to do things I'd later regret.

A memory floated to the surface of my mind, of holidays and stopping in a doorway and—_oh no, not that one_.

_It's worth a shot_, the voice said, then was quiet.

A few minutes and bit more whiskey later and the idea wasn't actually looking all that bad. I could do it. Just one kiss, right? Worst comes to worst, we'd both get a good laugh out of it. I was a grown woman. I had survived Rider training. And I'd just survived a war. You only live once, right?

I took one last, large gulp out of the bottle—liquid courage—before setting it down. It was considerably lighter than it had started out.

"Um, Evin?" I began.

"Hmm?"

"You remember last Midwinter? And the mistletoe?"

He lifted his head and twisted to look at me, a lopsided grin forming. "Yeah?"

"Well…I kind of owe you something." And then I grabbed his collar with both fists, rose up, and planted a firm kiss on his mouth.

When I sat back he was grinning. A full, genuine, grin. I looked down, embarrassed by my own forwardness.

"About time, girl!" he cried.

I glanced up and had just enough time to see a pair of now clear blue eyes and that trademark grin before he kissed _me_. He pushed me backwards against the hay and tugged my shirt out of my breeches. When his hands slid underneath, I felt a buzz of warmth go through me at the feel of skin on skin. My arms went around his shoulders and he deepened the kiss and—

_Oh my!_

Alright, so it wasn't that perfect. I was pretty sure some bits of hay had fallen down my collar and it scratched my bare skin where my shirt had been pushed up, but I didn't really care at this point.

His hands brushed against the bandage that wound around my torso and he pulled back, both of us panting. "What's this?" he asked after he could speak, spreading his fingers lightly across the bottom edge. Gooseflesh raised across my stomach.

"It's stupid," I told him.

"Can't be as stupid as mine."

I gave him my best _want-to-bet_ look. "I got elbowed by some lunk in plate armor and cracked a few ribs."

To his credit, Evin didn't laugh. But he did smile a little too wryly for my taste. "Perhaps a kiss will make it better."

"Perhaps."

We proceeded to test that theory until a voice rang out from the stable below.

"Evin Larse, I don't know where you are, but if you're in here you better report to Commander Tourakom immediately!" It was Horsemistress Onua, loud enough to rival Sarge. We both froze. "And she doesn't look happy!" she added.

We broke apart, Evin with a grimace. "She'll flay me alive. I haven't reported in yet."

I gave him a horrified look. "Are you crazy? Go!"

He leaned down and brushed his lips across my jaw. "One more for luck? I'm probably going to need it."

Who in their right mind could resist that? I leaned up and pressed my lips against his for a sweet few seconds.

"Good luck, soldier," I said, detangling my fingers from his tunic laces. He stayed, looking at me with an unreadable, yet soft, expression.

"Um, Evin…?"

He snapped out of it. "Oh, right. Sorry." He carefully pulled his hands out from under my shirt and stood up, offering me a hand.

Awkward silence filled the loft.

"I better go before she sends Sarge after me," he said at last. Then he stepped closer and laid a hand on my arm. "I'll meet you at dinner, alright? If I'm alive enough to eat," he added. His mouth quirked in a tentative smile.

I nodded. He left, pulling at his collar.

I stayed in the loft, listening to his retreating footsteps and pressing my hands to my cheeks. They were warm. What would've happened if we hadn't been interrupted? Thoughts of that nature chased themselves around my head. Despite that, I couldn't stop smiling. But we _had_ been interrupted, and that was that. Nothing worth worrying over. For now.

Spying the whiskey bottle left on the floor, I picked it up. It was empty. Evin was right—whiskey really did blunt the sharp edges. Whistling a sailor's shanty, I brushed the hay off my clothes before descending from the loft. I turned the corner and nearly ran into the Horsemistress.

I quickly hid the bottle behind my back. "Pardon me, Horsemistress."

Onua looked at me quizzically. "Miri, why do you have hay in your hair?"

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End file.
